Guided horseback trail rides in the Shenandoah Valley
June 2025
A group takes a 90-minute guided trail ride at Circle H Equine at Graves Mountain Farm & Lodges. (photos courtesy Amanda S. Creasey)
by Amanda S. Creasey, Outdoors Writer
The white barn is nestled at the foot of Graves Mountain in Syria, Va. When my husband and I walk up, we’re greeted at the gate by an exuberant dog, who we later learn is named Cinch. He has a merle coat. Another couple and a woman on her own are already here, wearing their helmets and milling around in the sun while our guides prepare the horses, which stand nearby, stamping their hooves and swishing their tails.
Casey Haynes, one of the owners of Circle H Equine at Graves Mountain Farm & Lodges, offers us helmets, sunscreen and bug spray. As Ashley, one of our guides, gives a basic rundown of how to steer and stop, a second dog trots out of the barn. Callie, a kelpie/blue heeler mix, stretches out in the shade of the mounting block, squinting up at us
For a 90-minute guided trail ride, Circle H will accommodate up to eight riders. There are five of us today, plus two guides. The horses include Harley, a large, dark brown Fresian; Sam; John, a brown Quarter horse; Kate the mule; a buckskin named Diablo; Lucy and under. One at a time, Ashley and Devon, our second guide, lead a horse up to the mounting block and match it with the right rider.
Harley for the man up front. Sam for his wife. The woman mounts John. A shot of nerves courses through my body when Devon stops Diablo at the block and beckons me over. Thankfully, the gentle horse does not live up to his name, though Devon tells me he used to. My husband ends up on Kate, while Ashley rides Lucy in the front with Devon in the back on Thunder.
Although I grew up around horses, it’s been nearly two decades since I sat astride one. That’s a lot of time since I viewed the world from this vantage point, the rhythm of another animal’s stride rocking beneath me, ears pricked forward, mane falling to one side of his neck. But muscle memory is long, and my body settles naturally into the old, familiar position, heels automatically shifting downward in the stirrups, thighs and knees slightly gripping the saddle, right hand resting on right thigh, left hand holding the reins. It’s like I never dismounted.
Once we’re all mounted, Cinch enthusiastically leads the way down a stony dirt path toward the hillside apple orchards. Circle H hosts these guided trail rides year-round, canceling only for heat advisories, thunder, lightning or dangerous conditions due to flooding or ice. Fortunately, none of these concerns plague us today, and we head out between the apple trees, mountains sloping up to either side, under a gorgeous blue sky brushed with high, thin clouds and dotted with faster-moving, cotton-ball clouds, their shadows drifting over the mountainside.
A horse whinnies to us from the other side of the fence as we meander by, kicking up reddish brown dust that drifts away in the gentle breeze. We flush dozens of blue jays out of a stand of trees along a small stream, the sun gleaming off their bold, blue plumage.
About halfway through the ride, my knees ache, and I wish I’d followed some of my fellow riders’ examples and stretched. I try hard not to let the discomfort define the ride, focusing instead on the bright yellow of the flowers blooming along the trail, the sound of the stream rushing over its rocky bed, and the nostalgic smell of horses and leather — spicy, warm and musky. And before I know it, we’re back at the barn, our 90-minute trail ride over. I dismount stiffly, patting Diablo’s shoulder and thanking him for the ride. For one sweet moment, he tucks his velvety muzzle into the crook of my arm as if in farewell, and then he’s led away.
A two-hour drive later, my husband and I arrive home. My sit bones are sore. But achy and sore as I might be, I’m glad I got back on a horse. And I don’t plan to let another 20 years go by before I find myself back in the saddle again.
For more information, visit www.gravesmountain.com.